s will?"

"I understand," answered Leon, "that it will make but little difference
to Juanita. She has her allowance as I have mine. My father, I
understand, had but little to bequeath to her."

Marcos glanced at his father again, and then at the clock. He had, it
appeared, finished his cross-examination, and was now characteristically
anxious to get to action.

Sarrion now took the lead in conversation, and proffered the usual
condolences and desire to help, in the formal Spanish way. He could
hardly conceal his contempt for Leon, who, for his part, was not free
from embarrassment. They had nothing in common but the subject which had
brought the Sarrions hither, and upon this point they could not progress
satisfactorily, seeing that Sarrion himself had evidently sustained a
greater loss than the dead man's own son.

They rose and took leave, promising to attend the mass next day. Leon
became interested again at once in this side of the question, which was
not without a thrill of novelty for him. He had organised and taken part
in many interesting and gorgeous ceremonies. But a requiem mass for one's
own father must necessarily be unique in the most varied career of
religious emotion. He was a little flurried, as a girl is flurried at her
first ball, and felt that the eye of the black-letter saints was upon
him.

He shook hands absent-mindedly with his friends, and was already making
mental note of their addition to the number secured for to-morrow's
ceremony. He was very earnest about it, and Marcos left him with a sudden
softening of the heart towards him, such as the strong must always feel
for the weak.

"You see," said Sarrion, when they were in the street, "what Evasio Mon
has made him. I do not know whether you are disposed to hand over Juanita
and her three million pesetas to Evasio Mon as well."

Marcos made no reply, but walked on, wrapt in thought.

"I must see Juanita," he said, at length, after a long silence, and
Sarrion's wise eyes were softened by a smile which flitted across them
like a flash of sunlight across a darkened field.

"Remember," he said, "that Juanita is a child. She cannot be expected to
know her own mind for at least three years."

Marcos nodded his head, as if he knew what was coming.

"And remember that the danger is imminent--that Evasio Mon is not the man
to let the grass grow beneath his feet--that we cannot let Juanita
wait... three weeks."

"I know," answered Marcos.